


Second Chances (we gonna do this, or what?)

by Epic_Glitter



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Character Study, F/F, Fights, Genderqueer, Hurt/Comfort, LGBTQ Themes, Nicodranas (Critical Role), Other, POV Keg, Personal Growth, Romance, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-25 02:41:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21348910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epic_Glitter/pseuds/Epic_Glitter
Summary: Months after leaving Shady Creek Run, the Mighty Nein run into a certain down-and-out dwarven fighter in Nicodranas. Time, loss, and regret may have changed Beau and Keg, but in a world where any day could be their last, are they ready to give love a second chance?
Relationships: Keg/Beauregard Lionett
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37





	1. Haunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content notes for CH1: violence, smoking, drinking, guilt, mental health issues, (indirect) mention of canon character death, potential spoilers (up to C2E83). tags may be changed/added as I go, and also may reflect events beyond published chapters.

“Alright, ye sorry lot! Sun’s dippin’ low and yer gettin’ on me nerves, so lay yer bets down quick for today’s final bout!”

Shouting at the top of his lungs, the halfling’s voice blared in her ear yet barely rose above the evening din around the outdoors fighting ring.

A crowd of sailors, longshoremen and tavern-dwellers formed a rowdy circle around the combatants, their eyes darting between the reigning champion and her next challenger. Their voices drowned out the steady crash of waves to the south and west, clamoring to gamble hard-earned silver pieces on the coming duel.

She took a drag of her hand-rolled cigarette and a swig of cheap rum from her flask, ignoring the young man across the ring. No point admiring a pretty face when she’d just end up smashing it in, right? Oh, he had some muscle on him, sure. Carried a polearm of decent make, too. But any warrior worth his salt wouldn’t stop long in Nicodranas, much less The Skew.

This side of the port city was full of military rejects, ex-mercs, drunks, wash-outs and fuck-ups. _Her people_. They’d cheer her name, and she’d win enough coin to keep the booze flowing, but she knew it didn’t mean shit.

Those empty victories could never change who she was, what she’d done. What she’d _failed _to do. Any “champion” of the shiftless and broken oughta be ready to face that reality. Eyes open, face front.

“One silver on the fella with the glaive!”

“He won’t last a minute, that one! Three on the dwarf!”

Betting closed and a hush fell over the crowd.

Her challenger was talking shit, of course. Just like every arrogant prick who tried to take her title, he made the usual digs at her short stature, her nearby flask, the cigarette always perched at the corner of her mouth.

Fuck ‘em!

She was plenty capable of dishing it right back, but with this guy? She didn’t give a shit. Could just as well save her breath and let her weapons do the talking.

Throwing back one last swig of rum before twisting the flask’s cap back on, she tucked it into her leather pouch. Dropping the stub of her cigarette, she drew a deep breath of salt air mixed with potent liquor fumes and scratched at the reddish-brown hair along her jawline. Finally, she tightened her grip: first on the warhammer, then the axe.

“Ye know the rules. No magic, no poison, no help, and stay in the ring. If the bell sounds, stay yer bloody weapons an’ let the clerics on through. Now go on, what’re ye waitin’ for? FIGHT!”

She surged forward, swinging the warhammer out to the side and slamming it hard against his stomach. A gutteral groan rose from the young man’s throat, strained and breathless. Before he could react, her axe sliced into his left arm and his groan grew into a howl.

Backing away from the injured challenger, she shifted into a defensive stance. The crowd roared, the adrenaline rush hit, and her heart thundered beneath her breastplate as she stood ready for his first strike.

Let that fucker come at her!

Time to see what he’s got!

Finally, he raised his glaive and-

What?

_Fuck._

She could _not _let this happen again!

A flash of memory stormed through her mind, dragging her awareness away from the fight… gods damn it all!

Half-dazed, she lifted the warhammer up to block at the last moment. The human’s blade carved a shallow cut into the side of her face, deflecting just enough to avoid her neck on the way down. Any more hesitation, and its metal edge would’ve torn into the… whatever that big vein in her neck was called.

Real bloody, a hit like that. Coulda been lights out.

The clerics would do their thing, but it would’ve been a fucking shameful way to lose. No more pride, no more reputation-

The challenger’s second strike tore a deep gash into the stunned dwarf’s side through a gap between armor plates. A shock of pain spread from the wound and heat rose through her chest, her white-knuckled hands clenching both weapons in an intense deathgrip. Jaw tight, eyes wide, a chilling voice from the past echoed in her ears…

“_That’s a bit too quick. I want you to live with the memory of what you did today.”_

Where her challenger’s face should be, she saw the one she longed to forget: bald, tattooed, eyes cold as steel. Was it some weird magic shit? Was he back from the grave, following her across the continent? ...was she _sure _he died in the first place?

Either way, that face was taunting her now. Reciting her old, buried shame.

No, fuck, she had to get a grip! There was a fight on. _Here. Now_. There was absolutely no room for guilt or regret or the sting of fresh cuts or the wet trickle of blood.

Only rage.

She could _use _her rage. Every time the flashbacks came, burning hatred seared from within. Her muscles tensed and the urge to destroy sent her body into overdrive, ready to slash and smash. Her ears rang with the violent clang of metal against armor, furiously swinging and pounding!

She stood over him, striking again and again, throwing all her strength into a storm of wild attacks, but Lorenzo only laughed and sneered-

_DING-DING! DING-DING! DING-DING! DING-DING!_

“Ease up, champ! That’s the bell, y’hear? It’s over! C’mon, just step back now… good gods, not again… will someone _please _pull her off?”

Several sets of arms grabbed her from behind, rushing to restrain her as others tore both weapons from her grasping hands. Amidst the chaos she thought she saw a shock of blue from the corner of her eye – a familiar belt, tough brown hands wrapped palm-to-elbow with fighter’s tape. Probably her fucked-up mind playing more tricks… had to be. Better be. Last thing she needed was to dredge up _that night _at a time like this!

She pulled and kicked, cursed and struggled, ranting about “that chrome dome bastard!” and desperately straining against the grip of whoever was pulling her away from her bloodied challenger. Didn't help any. She couldn’t get free, couldn’t even get a good look at the group that dragged her out of the Skew, through the Restless Wharf, and into the Wayfarer’s Cove tavern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm writing this note in a hurry, so for now, just gonna say FYI for those who know me through LiS - don't worry, I have not stopped writing in/for that fandom! 
> 
> Wishing each of you a lovely day, and see ya in Chapter 2 :)


	2. The Path

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content notes: drinking, smoking, potential spoilers (up to C2E84)

“When we get there, we’ll slide you into the corner booth, that’s all,” the annoyingly cheerful tiefling said in a sing-song tone, one hand firmly holding Keg’s left shoulder and guiding her along the moonlit seaside path. “A little healing, a little drinky-drink, you’ll be good to go!”

Keg grunted, hardly listening.

Her fight was over, her head was clear, and her twisted flashbacks from the Glory Run Road had all backed the fuck off. For the moment, at least. Now, she just needed to get the tiefling and her five friends to scram, give her back her gods-damned weapons, and leave her to drink it off.

She tried to run after the fight, but didn’t make it far. Exhaustion, fresh wounds, fuckin’ magic bullshit… what was their deal, anyway? Why force her to follow them, and… what, grab an ale? Catch up on old times?

Mighty Weirdos, that’s what they were. _C__onstantly_ doing shit that didn’t make a mote of sense. Just one more reason she’d hoped never to see them again…

“By the way, Keg,” the tiefling went on as they moved closer to the tavern. “Have you ever heard of the Traveler?”

“No. And if you’re trying to butter me up or some shit, it’s not working.”

“That’s okay,” Jester replied, giving Keg’s shoulder a squeeze. “If maybe somebody _I_ had a little crush on, saw _me_ maybe freak out in the fighting ring, _I’d_ be pretty cranky too!”

Beau cleared her throat and coughed, sending Jester into a delighted fit of giggles while the others groaned. Ever since they left the ring, Beau had walked silently alongside Keg and Jester, with one hand gripping the dwarf’s right shoulder.

No idea _why _Keg was getting the silent treatment, but it was another body-blow to her ego.

“Just so you know, he’s pretty much like the greatest ever. Maybe he could help you out sometimes? If you want I can get you a pamphlet once we get in-”

“If I might make a suggestion,” the wizard cut in, his words clear and precise even with that thick Zemnian accent. His name was… Frumpkin? No, too bizarre even for _this _bunch. It’d come to her… Addressing Keg directly, he went on, “_Fruend_, I’m not sure if you are, ah, aware… oh, how do I say this? It seems you are bleeding quite heavily, _und_ if you like, perhaps Caduceus or J-”

“I’m _fine_,” she replied as they stepped up to the tavern’s lantern-lit entrance. “Just a scratch.”

“Even, ah, if that were so. I have some experience at this- at trying to- I think they will not let you enter the building in your current state, you see? Could draw attention. If you just-”

“The Wayfarer’s Cove? I spend so much of my winnings there, I basically keep that shithole _open_,” she said. “They’d have some nerve, kicking _me _out. But look, if one of you wants to patch me up, go ahead. Just hurry. Fuckin’ cold out here.”

“_Okay_okayokayokay,” Jester whined, stopping the group as she worked her magic. A deep, soothing warmth spread from Keg’s stomach through the rest of her body, her wounds rapidly closing and scarring over. “You could’ve just asked me to heal her, _Caleb.”_

“Noted.”

* * *

Once everyone entered the tavern, Fjord and Caleb stood watch by the door, their eyes fixed on Keg. Beau and Jester finally let go of her shoulders, and Beau turned to her, saying, “Hold tight, and I’ll get us – uh, _all_ of us – some drinks. You want to pick out a booth, go sit your ass down. Try not to, y’know, go berserk on anyone on your w-”

“Oh, fuck off, would you?” Keg slid into her usual booth in the back corner. Frowning and fixing her face into a distant, cold expression, she leaned back, lit up a cigarette, and added, “All of you. Just leave me the hell alone.”

Sounded convincing enough, she hoped. Forceful. Intimidating.

If they didn’t cast any of their truth-telling spells, or catch her sneaking glances at Beau’s intricate new tattoo, she’d be fine. Keg _knew_ her own weakness, and all the times she’d thought of Beau the last six months. All that BS, brilliance, bravado… her intense loyalty to those weird-ass friends of hers… her combat acrobatics, and the cocky, mischievous look in her eye when she made her move…

Point was, Keg promised herself never to _act _on that weakness.

Don’t let ‘em get their hopes up, don’t stay around long enough to drag ‘em down. No disappointment, no drama.

“Looks like these two have some catching up to do,” came the calming baritone voice of the tall one with the pink hair. Funny how the wizard thought _Keg_ might draw too much attention…? “Why don’t we all turn in? Beau, we’ll meet you back at the Lavish Chateau tonight?”

“I thiiiink maybe we should say tomorrow _morning_ instead,” Jester replied, winking at Beau and moving towards the door. “Just in case they, _you_ _know_.”

She made some obnoxious _click-click_ sound, followed by a peel of laughter.

“For fuck’s sake,” Keg replied. “Get _out_ already!”

Five of them made their way out the door as Beau slid into the booth, bumping her hips against Keg’s on her way in. The dwarf glared and tried to push her out – to no avail. She wouldn’t fucking budge.

“What, you didn’t hear me?” Keg said, dramatically slamming her empty flask onto the table and trying to blow smoke in Beau’s face. “I said: Get. The fuck. Out!”

“If you want me to go,” she replied, easily dodging the burst of smoke and wafting it away as the corners of her lips twisted up in an amused smirk, “Why don’t you make me?”

“Hey, barkeep!” the dwarf shouted, pretending to ignore her. “Can I get some damn booze? Whatever ya got. Make it fast, I’m dyin’ over here!”

“Keep your trousers on,” the half-elf spat back at her as he wiped down a table on the other end of the room. “Anything for your friend, there?”

“No,” Keg said, “She was just leaving.”

“Real jokester, that Keg. Hope she didn’t fool ya! Let’s make it- yeah, OK: a shot for her, a shot for me...” Beau paused, glancing around at the three other patrons quietly nursing their drinks before tossing a few gold pieces to the barkeep. “A round of ale for the house, and… top off her flask, too. Keep the change.”

“Very generous of you,” he said, tipping his hat before moving behind the bar. “Comin’ right up!”

“Moneybags, over here,” Keg grumbled, forcing her eyes to focus on the half-elf, and nowhere near the two cobalt blue pools that kept trying to meet her gaze.

A tense silence hung in the air as the barkeep approached, setting out their ale and filling Keg’s flask as they each took a shot of bottom-shelf whiskey. Keg waited until he left with the empty shot glasses before bluntly asking, “So. Why the fuck did you bring me here?”

“Right to the point, huh?” Beau said, smoothly lifting a mug to her lips and taking a long sip of ale. “We saw ya zone out in the ring. _And _take some hits that you coulda blocked, easy. _And _rage out. _And _damn near kill a guy, _with _Zolezzo watching… I’m just sayin’. All that shit we went through up north… It fucked with everyone, Keg. _Still_ fucks with some of us. Your fight in the ring tonight- I think it was like one long cry for help. So I- uh, _we_, came runnin’.”

“‘Cry for help?’ Come on.” Keg shook her head, taking a sip from her own mug and wiping the suds from her beard with a sigh. “Sometimes in a fight… shit just happens. It ain’t that deep.”

“OK…” Beau paused, her expression softening as Keg kept drinking. After a moment, Beau continued with a hint of warmth and concern in her voice. “You don’t wanna talk, fine. I get that. I’ve got shit I’m not ready to spill, too. But, uh, if you ever want to… you know. I’ll listen, and, you know… I’ll try not to be a complete asshole about it.”

“Thanks,” Keg said, their eyes meeting for an achingly brief moment before the dwarf looked away again, setting down the mug and grabbing her flask.

Time to shut it down.

She’d let all this go on too long already. The weakness. Feelin’ those same foolish, dangerous sparks again… longing to fuck around and flirt on the battlefield and stay up on watch together and just be a team again, or whatever the hell they’d been.

The best thing, the _only_ thing to do was make a clean break.

“Look… you and your friends did me a solid, pullin’ me outta that fight before… before I crossed the line. But I gotta leave all that behind me, now. Gotta look ahead. Stay on the path an’ shit.”

“What’s your ‘path’ now, Keg?”

“I don’t know, but it ain’t here,” she said, taking another swig from her flask before passing it to Beau. “I fight. I win some silver. Someday I get on one of those ships, or hell, if I’m lucky I get hired onto one of the crews. Then, I start over. Somewhere across the sea, where no one’s ever heard of Shady Creek Run. _That’s_ the path.”

“Huh,” she replied, taking a small sip and handing the flask back with a chin nod.

Keg felt Beau doing her thing. Building those walls back up, trying to hide any weakness, any attachment. Takes one to know one, and all. Maybe she’d felt Keg doing the same?

When Keg cared about someone, she lost them. Full stop. And _n__o one_ could say that getting involved with Keg made their own lives better. So if Beau knew what was best for her? She’d walk the fuck out, and never look back.

“’Huh,’ what?” Keg said after a couple minutes, tucking her half-full flask back into her pouch.

“Nothin’. Just never figured you for a world traveler,” Beau said, sliding away from her and towards the edge of the booth. She kept glancing at Keg, then away, thoughtful and guarded. Like she still had a trick up her sleeve, or something. Fuckin’ strange. “Oh- meant to tell ya. Jester says your hammer and axe are waiting for you, back at your place. I, uhm… hope you find what you’re lookin’ for, Keg.”

“Yeah. Thanks. Uh… same to you.”

Success. Or something. They were done talking, and Keg was still on the path.

Congratufuckinglations, right?

Minutes later, they were both out of the tavern and into the chilly night air. Beau insisted on walking her back to the Skew, dropping Keg off with cool, muttered goodbyes at her tiny, ramshackle hut before making her way towards the Opal Archways district.

Going their separate ways.

Weakness. Letting herself care too damn much for that crazy-ass monk.

She hoped, with her whole dinged-up, booze-drenched heart, Beau would never _ever_ look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thx for reading & see ya in Chapter 3!
> 
> (...you didn't think *that* is where this story was gonna end, did you?)


	3. Challenger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content notes: violence, grief, guilt, (indirect) mention of canon character death, drinking, self-medicating with alcohol, smoking, strong language, problematic relationship dynamics, possible spoilers (up to C2E84)

With her ear pressed against the inside of her door, Keg listened as Beau’s footsteps disappeared into the night.

No hesitation – just up and gone.

Good.

Yeah, good on her.

Walking away from a disaster was a smart move. A survivor’s move. Plus, it was _exactly_ what she’d asked Beau to do. What kind of jackass would hold that against her?

Keg couldn’t deny the heavy, empty ache in her chest, but that was on _her_. That ache would pass, as it always did. Just had to stay focused on her routine: get those two candles lit, grab a bottle out from under her cot, refill her flask, toss off her armor, and keep it movin’.

Sitting on the dirt floor, she took a giant gulp of rum from the bottle before setting it aside. Not that she was done for the night – no, after a day like that? She’d need a few extra doses to ward off the ghosts and the night terrors.

Trusty flask would see her through.

Twisting its cap off, she poured a few drops onto the floor.

“Shoulda been me, bud,” she said to the first candle’s flame, her words slurring slightly. “And that offer still stands. If we could trade places… Yuto, I’d do it in a gods-damned heartbeat.”

Taking another swig of rum, she blew out the first candle and said to the second: “Your friends are still weird as shit. And I’m still really fuckin’ sorry.”

She pressed both hands against her temples, pulling them slowly down the sides of her face, and heaved a deep sigh as they passed over her recent scar and her close-cropped beard.

Just before climbing onto the cot, she licked her thumb and forefinger, pinching the second wick to snuff out the flame. In the darkness, she buried herself in ragged blankets, drinking from the flask until sleep finally came.

* * *

“Yer not listenin’, Keg. I’m sayin’ if it happens again-”

“Just drop it, man. The guy’s _fine_!”

“_If it happens again_, we’re done. Got it? Made me name runnin’ _clean _fights.”

Barth Lastgate, the grey-haired halfling in charge of the gambling operation, had already spent the afternoon chewing Keg out. With The Skew’s residents out working, drinking, or both, his nasally voice carried across the empty plaza around the ring: Blah blah, can’t turn a profit if the Zolezzo shut us down. Yadda yadda, challengers won’t sign up if they think they’ll fucking die.

After months of working with the guy, she knew it was bluster. He’d get it out of his system and cool off soon enough. She’d still keep her title, get paid, and get back in the ring that same day.

She was more than ready to put yesterday’s fuckery behind her, and stay on her path.

As evening fell, bells rang out from the docks, and workers slowly made their way back into town. The nightly crowd gathered around the ring, and the first challenger stepped forward.

She had him down in all of four hits – a new record!

“Keg! Keg! Keg! Keg!”

Soaking in the onlookers’ cheers, she raised both weapons above her head, working the crowd.

“Who’s next, huh?” she shouted, striding across the circle and back in broad, boastful steps. “Who thinks they can take on the champion of Nicodranas?”

The halfling warned her that short battles didn’t bring in much coin, so she let the next few drag on longer. Whenever the crowd started to lose interest, she dealt the decisive blow and moved on to the next challenger.

Barth lined ‘em up, Keg knocked ‘em down, and the sun drifted closer to the watery western horizon. When the final challenger approached the ring, the crowd grew even larger and louder.

“Alright, ye sorry lot! The sun’s dippin’ low and yer gettin’ on me nerves...”

The announcement was her cue to wrap up her pre-fight ritual, capping her flask and putting out her smoke. She was in the zone, now: just her, her hammer, and her blade – ready to bring the fuckin’ hurt!

Took her a while to notice that, for once, her challenger wasn’t talking shit.

Looking up, she gave the newbie a once-over. Human, probably. Buff. Either unafraid, or skilled at masking their fear. The person’s face was turned away as they removed a set of enchanted bracers, handing them off to someone in the crowd. Then, they wrapped their fists with blue fighter’s tape, winding it up their lithe arms with disciplined, patient focus.

That familiar undercut, black hair pulled into a topknot… that wooden staff… that shimmering, mysterious tattoo of an all-seeing eye…

Keg frowned, glowering as each new clue confirmed her suspicion.

“You can’t be fucking serious,” she shouted, stepping towards her challenger as Barth swiftly moved to step between them.

“Ey! Off to yer corners ‘til fightin’ time,” he barked, holding one hand up in warning.

“Dead serious,” her challenger said. “Wanna make this interesting?”

“Beau, the hell do you think you’re-”

“If you win,” she continued, speaking over Keg as she finished wrapping her hands, “Then you get what you _say_ you want. You’ll never hear from me again.”

“And if you-” She paused, her voice suddenly louder than she’d expected. The crowd’s shouting had dropped to whispers and murmurs, all eyes on her. Lowering her voice, she continued, “And what if _you_ win?”

“Then tomorrow, _after_ we rest and heal up, we’ll have a real fucking conversation,” Beau cracked her knuckles and picked up her staff with her eyes still locked on Keg’s. “Catch is, we don’t get to bullshit each other this time. _Co__mplete_ honesty. When we’re done, if you still want me to go, I’ll go.”

Fuckity fuckity fuckfuck.

She couldn’t back down now – champions don’t _do_ that.

Wasn’t about to let Beau see her run away again, either.

But if they fought… what then? She’d seen Beau in action back at the Sour Nest, and those wrapped-up fists were a force of nature! Keg’s title was all she had left, and losing would mean a whole month out of the ring. What the fuck would she even do?

Not like she actually had a choice, though. To chicken out was worse than losing, and she _needed_ to be champion, to stay on her path.

“You’re on.”

Beau gave her a cocky little nod – did she _know _how to aim right at Keg’s weakness? – and she shot back her best attempt at a death stare.

Focus. No distractions. The whole _point _was to get that smug, alluring smile out of her life for good, right?

...Shit.

“Ye know the rules. No magic, no poison, no help, and stay in the ring. If the bell sounds, stay yer bloody weapons – _includin’_ fists, y’hear? – an’ let the clerics on through. Now go on, what’re ye waitin’ for? FIGHT!”

Beau was on her in a flash, a lightning-quick flurry of knuckles and pure muscle aimed directly at the dwarf’s scruffy jaw. Moments later, her staff struck Keg hard in the leg, nearly knocking her on her ass.

Keg steadied herself and kept her eyes on Beau, tracking patterns and weak points, just as Yuto once taught her. She landed a blow with the warhammer during the monk’s rare moment of hesitation, but when the weapon hit Beau full-force, her cry of pain made Keg wince.

Glancing at that massive bruise also gave her pause… gods damn it all. Didn’t make sense. They each _lived_ for the thrill of the fight! Of _course_ they were gonna get hurt!

…plus, Beau started it!

But she didn’t want to- it was just that- _no_. No, she had to pay attention! There was no time for this confusing crap!

In an instant, Beau rushed at her again. Leaping out of the way at the last possible moment, Keg braced herself for the next attack…

* * *

The fight continued into the night, running longer than any in the ring’s history. As they kept at it, different rhythms emerged between each parry and dodge, each strike and deflection. To the outsider it could have been a brutal dance – aggressive, relentless, yet beautiful to behold.

In the heat of _this _battle, Keg’s heart raced; her eyes locked onto Beau’s muscular, agile form; her weapons moved as part of her; for once she felt alert and fully _alive_. They were connected as warriors, as champion and challenger, each sensing the other’s next moves.

Twice, maybe three times, their eyes met across the ring and-

It was kinda fucked to get so drawn in, so _tempted_, by the woman trying to kick her ass and take her title… right?

But she knew, she _knew_, Beau felt it too. Stronger, somehow, than the sparks of desire that flew between them back when they'd fought side-by-side in the Greying Wildlands. Now, an exhilarating tension hung in the air within the ring, and Keg couldn’t help but cling to each wink, each small nod of respect.

Focus. Focusfocus.

Not easy, since by this point, Beau was wearing her out. She was covered in sweat and gasping for breath, with one eye swollen shut. Her armor kept growing heavier against her body, her arms getting more sluggish with each attempt to hit her fleet-footed challenger.

Their dangerous dance ended abruptly with a strong blow to the head from Beau’s staff that sent Keg staggering backwards, her vision rapidly blurring. As she fell to the ground, both weapons slipped from her grasp.

_DING-DING! DING-DING! DING-DING! DING-DING!_

Beau knelt over her, wiping blood from her own nose and trying to tell Keg something she couldn’t understand through her haze. When the clerics rushed in, Beau refused to move aside, forcing them to go around her.

In the moments before everything went black, Keg held her gaze, vaguely comforted by the hint of concern she found in those intense, determined blue eyes.

To be completely honest, she wouldn’t mind seeing more of them…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> It's been an awesome surprise to see some interest in this fic, so just wanna say I appreciate each "hit," kudos, bookmark, etc! Comments are totally welcome too / so long as they're in good faith, I try to reply.
> 
> Have a lovely weekend / see ya in Chapter 4 :)


	4. Armor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note: strong language, drinking, implied/referenced sexual content, gender feels

“Aggghhh…”

Still half asleep, Keg groaned and clutched the side of her head.

“Good morning, Miss Keg,” said a hushed, unbearably chipper voice. “We are going to not talk super loud, _OK_? OK. You got a-pretty banged up, so maybe take it easy?”

What the…?

The _last _person she wanted to see, in all Exandria, was that babbling sugarpop tiefling!

Aching knees, sore jaw, pounding head, and worst of all, losing her title… Hadn’t she suffered enough? Now she had to deal with the gods damned sunshine squad?

“It’s ‘Keg.’ Just ‘Keg.’”

“OK, Just Keg. You can still call me Jester. Let me know if you need anything at all!”

One eye crept open, peering through shafts of early-morning light drifting in from the room’s stained glass window. Sure enough, the cleric sat nearby with a blanket draped over her shoulders, drawing in her sketchbook as Keg yawned and rubbed her eyes.

“My flask,” she muttered, siting up at the edge of the bed and glancing down at the set of grey mens’ nightwear she couldn’t remember putting on. “Just… ugh. Where’s my flask?”

“Cominggg a-right up,” she replied, pausing to grab it. “Here you go!”

Snatching the flask from Jester’s hands, Keg threw back a few gulps. Whatever the hell was going on, at least a little hair of the dog would help-

Weird… That smooth, smoky taste went down _a lo__t _easier than her usual bootleg swill. Turning the flask over, she checked for the engraved initials- definitely _her _flask. Yet it smelled, and tasted, like the kind of pricey spirits she used to smuggle for the Jagentoths.

“Who swiped out my rum? Fuck, if it’s poisoned-”

“Last night, after we brought you back here, _somebody_ took your flask downstairs,” she cut in, gesturing across the room to the person lying in the opposite bed. “She paid _lot__s_ of gold to get it all filled up…OK, well, _technically _I wasn’t supposed to tell you that, but let’s just say I’m _pretty_ sure there’s no poison!”

Keg’s gaze shifted to the other bed, where Beau lay facing the far wall, covered in a fine fur blanket up to her lower back. The light caught her tattoo’s jade gem dust, glistening along her strong shoulders and up the curve of her neck.

Jester’s stifled chuckling broke Keg’s momentary trance, drawing a gruff, irritated sigh.

“The fuck are you laughing at,” she said, turning back to face the amused tiefling. “And whaddaya mean, ‘downstairs’? Fancy-ass windows, expensive booze… What _is _this place?”

“Oh! You haven’t…? I mean- Just Keg, welcome to the Lavish Chateau!”

“The Lav- uh- that huge inn over by the Archways? Shit, I gotta get out of here… Where’s my axe? And all my gear?”

“Don’t worry, my momma took care of all that.” Pointing to a folded pile of men’s clothing on a dark wood desk, she added, “You can put those on- they’re for guests, you know. Your stuff will be in the cloak room tomorrow, polished and sharpened and everything like that!”

“But I don’t _want _anyone touching my- augh!” A painful grimace spread across her face as she stood up, still feeling the effects from her defeat in the ring. Eyeing the silk doublet on top of the pile, she said, “This is such bullshit… wait, your _mom _took my armor?”

“I mean, not her _personally_. She works here, that’s all. Have you heard of the Ruby of the Sea?”

“Uh…yeah? What’s that got to do with-”

“My momma’s the best,” Jester replied matter-of-factly. “You should come see her show tonight! Could be the last- I mean, I was about to go check on her. Do you need _anything_ else before I go?”

Anything, huh?

Dangerous question.

She needed her gods-damned title back!

…and spirits strong enough to wash away the last two days.

Or howsabout just passage across the sea aboard the next ship out?

More than _any _of that, she needed just one more night with her “champion.”

Wait, what?

Where in the briny frozen depths did _that_ come from? _No_, what she needed was to get dressed and out the door before those disarming cobalt eyes opened back up.

“Yeah, I do,” Keg finally replied, removing her nightshirt and tossing it on the floor. “You got a roll of bandages? Uh, super wide ones?”

“Bandages?” Jester’s curious gaze lingered on Keg’s burly, bruised-up arms and chest for a few seconds before she shrugged and checked her own hair and horns in the room’s full-length mirror. “I mean, if you need any more healing-”

“Keg, I got you,” Beau said with a yawn, tossing off her blanket and rolling over to face them both. “Thanks, Jess. I’ll take it from here.”

No staring. No fucking staring holy shit she wasn’t wearing a shirt, and that woman was _all_ muscle, morning glow in her eyes and actually Keg’s shirt was off too wait was Beau checking out her-

Gods fucking damnit fuck why?

“No problem!” the tiefling said, winking at Beau. Standing up, she removed the blanket from her shoulders, revealing parts of her own glimmering tattoo, and walked out into the hallway. “Hope you feel better real soon, Just Keg!”

* * *

Just like that, Keg’s escape plan went tits up.

Couldn’t drag herself away _now_. Every mote of self-control she had left, went to keeping her mask on: slight frown, tight jaw, blank expression. No staring at half-naked distractions. The whole deal.

Hiding the tempest of fury, shame, and longing that stormed through her heart was hard fucking work, but if she could just-

“Catch!” Beau teasingly called out as a small off-white blur arced across the room, bouncing off Keg’s chest and interrupting her thoughts. “Or don’t.”

“Don’t you need this?” she asked, grabbing the roll of bandages. “‘Cause if I take it, you’re not getting it back.”

“All yours,” Beau replied, donning her sleeveless blue and grey raimants. After a long, obvious look at Keg’s shirtless, athletic body, Beau smirked and added, “You hit like a cannon ball with that hammer, you know that? You were _this _close to knocking me out.”

“Been throwing yourself in front of cannon balls?” Keg deflected with a small, reluctant grin, unrolling an arms’ length of the dressing and pulling it taut across her own chest. “What do your friends think of- ah, shitballs!”

As Keg reached to pass the bandage around her own back, an agonizing pain shot up her side, collapsing her whole stony-faced front as she doubled over.

“Keg? You OK?”

“Ugh… I’m fine,” she replied, leaning hard against the wall. “Don’t...rrrgh… worry about it.”

“You took some heavy blows,” Beau said, her lips pressed to a thin, concerned line as she watched form across the room, noting the newly-formed bruises she’d left.

“Yeah, well. Who’s fault is that?”

“That’s… OK, that’s fair. You pissed at me?”

“Hell, I just woke up. I don’t fuckin’ know. It’s a lot.”

“Nice dodge.” Pointing at the bandage roll, Beau asked, “Look – you want a hand with that?”

“I don’t need any-”

“Binding can hurt like a motherfucker if you do it yourself and you’re all busted up,” she cut in, starting to walk towards Keg. “So, offer’s there. Keep the stubborn face on, or let someone fucking help you for once. It’s up to you.”

“Asshole.”

“You’re not wrong. Gonna give me the damn roll, or what?”

_There_ it was. Despite the whole tough, shit-talking _thing _they had going, Keg heard her suggestive tone, saw the yearning glint in her eye, warm and softened by the window’s hazy morning glow. After all the danger they’d faced, the risks they’d dared to rush into together – what was one more?

Was Keg ready to let her in (again)?

With a simple, decisive nod, Keg tossed the roll of bandages at Beau and reached for her flask. “You, uh, sure you know how to do this?”

“Been a while,” she replied, easily making the catch, “but some things, you never forget.”

* * *

As Beau approached, Keg’s heart raced, her skin tingled from anticipation, and a rush of memory filled her consciousness.

Her mind jumped back to the night they’d spent together back in Fessuran, tangled in each others’ arms, warmed against the wintry chill, every last defense stripped away as passion took over.

That night, she was free to let go because Beau _got it_.

More than any other lover Keg had laid with, she understood. Keg never had to explain the tightly wrapped bandages that flattened down her chest for battle… or for more than that? Fuck if she knew. Her proudly-worn scruff, her explosive name, her rough ways, and all the shit she didn’t even have words for- Beau just rolled with it. Had questions, sure, but didn’t make it a huge fucking deal.

She didn’t keep Keg guessing, either. Not about being into her. They both knew the score, and her offer to help wasn’t _entirely_ about binding at all.

Had there _ever _been any legit reason to resist her weakness?

It was simple, really. Whenever Beau got close to her, it felt fucking good. Not much in life Keg wanted _more_ than to feel that way again, and hopefully, for Beau to feel the same.

So what if this meant veering off her path?

So what if this all came crashing down on her in the end?

Probably would.

Fuck it! Whatever chance they had, Keg wasn’t about to let it pass.

* * *

As Beau got the bandage ready, Keg snapped out of her reverie, grabbed her flask, and pulled a chair away from the wall. Standing on it, she was now tall enough to look Beau in the eye.

“Your friend- uh, Jester? She said you got me the good stuff,” she said, taking a swig before offering it to Beau.

“I’m good, but thanks. Wasn’t a big deal. The rum you had before was _nasty_, though!”

“‘It’ll put hair on your chest,’” she said with a laugh, setting the flask down by the chair’s leg.

“That’s a damn good look on you, but you deserve some better booze!” Those two striking blue eyes met Keg’s own, holding for an extra beat or two with a sincere, affirming look. Like she knew it kind of meant the fucking world for her to say that part, and mean it. When she finally shifted her gaze from Keg to the bandage roll, Beau said, “Enough stalling though. We gonna do this, or what?”

“Sure.”

“Alright, then. Arms up.”

A shiver spread across Keg’s skin in that first moment, adjusting to the pressure and warmth of Beau’s hands. Beau set to work winding the bandages around Keg’s chest and back, rhythmically unfurling the roll in firm, practiced, artful motions.

For a few minutes, they both fell into a wordless “dance,” worlds away from combat yet still charged with that sense of connection, of attuning to the other’s moves. Close enough to feel Beau’s breath, to see her menagerie of piercings in detail, and that faded scar over her eye…

“That should do it.” Beau’s hand lingered on Keg’s bound chest, just above hear heart, before she stepped back. “It’ll keep you strapped in ‘til nightfall, maybe a little after. Less if you have to fight or run.”

“Thanks. Uh, there's a shirt on the desk there. Toss it over?”

“Sure thing.”

Still standing on the chair, Keg pulled the silk doublet on, looked to the mirror, and scoffed.

“What?” Beau said, handing over the rest of the guest clothes. “Looks flat to me.”

“No, that part’s fine. Just hate this fuckin’ shirt. Worth a whole month’s winnings, I’d bet. And makes me look like I’ve never touched a blade in my life,” she grumbled. “I’d get laughed out of the Run wearing this. Or jumped, more like.”

“You’ll live,” she replied, moving back across the room to gather her bedside belongings. “And you look pretty handsome, for a pampered guest of the Marquis.”

Keg gave a halfhearted chuckle as she finished getting dressed. Something about that last thing she said was gnawing at Keg… stomach was rumbling, too, though. Could just be she needed some grub…

“Beau?”

“Yeah?”

“You still gonna hold me to your weird deal, from yesterday?”

“You mean having a real, honest fucking conversation?” Beau called over her shoulder, slipping on her bracers and boots. Somehow, her new traveling clothes were even _more_ badass than Keg had remembered. “Yeah. Deal’s a deal.”

“Right… uh, did that start already?”

“...why do you want to know?”

“Been talking all morning, for starters,” Keg said, taking one last sip from her flask before tucking it into her leather pouch. “Were we _already_ supposed to be -”

“Yeah, no, I say we start The Talk after breakfast.”

Keg nervously scratched at her beard, her shoulders and neck tensing up at Beau’s reply.

If they weren’t doing the honesty thing yet, then the flirting and the teasing and the compliments… was all of that real? Or was Beau messing with her the whole time?

Fuck… all the sudden Keg felt like a kid from the Run again, always bracing for that next betrayal, and always trying to hide that fear. _She_ wasn’t bullshitting though. And Beau wasn’t either… right?

“Why? Why wait ‘til after breakfast?”

“’Cause I say stupid shit when I’m hungry.”

“…so you’re always hungry?”

“Wow…” Beau said, flipping her hand up in feigned offense as she grabbed her staff and walked towards the door. “You done? ‘Cause if so, might be time to stuff our faces. They got fruit, pastries- Jester swears by the cinnamon ones.”

She couldn’t leave it there, not now. If Beau continued out that door, the seed of doubt would only keep growing. Keg had to know it was all real. _Had _to.

“Beau, wait,” Keg blurted out as Beau turned to face her. “I, uh, I got one more thing.”

“What is it?”

“I think you know…”

“Know _what_, Keg?”

“For fuck’s sake… _kiss me_, you asshole!”

Before Keg even finished speaking, Beau threw her staff down and swiftly hurried back across the room. Wrapping one hand around the back of Keg’s head, Beau planted a rough, breathless kiss on her lips, nearly knocking her off the chair. Grinning, Keg leaned in, pulling Beau closer as they held the lingering, long-awaited kiss.

“Took ya long enough,” Beau said, gasping for breath as she picked her staff up off the floor.

“Yeah, well” Keg stammered. “Worth the gods-damned wait!” As she jumped down from the chair, gleefully ignoring another jolt of knee pain, with a satisfied smile plastered on her face. “Damn good kisser, damn good fighter. Fuckin’ missed you, Beauregard.”

“_Fuckin’_ missed you, too, Keg.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Pretty excited to share this chapter, though I know it's a little undercooked/rushed. Also lookin forward to continuing the story from here!
> 
> FWIW, this is just my interpretation of Keg. Gender stuff isn’t the main focus, but might come up again.
> 
> Also, PSA: in real life, rolled bandages aren’t ideal for binding. Health risks. There ya go.
> 
> Anyway! Wishing each of you a lovely day, & see ya in Chapter 5!


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